Monday, December 16, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Kind Gestures — Writing, Calling Cards and Greeting's
I asked the clerk why her register was prompted to verify ID for Epson salt sales. She replied that people are using it to get high. As an afterthought the clerk asked for my ID, I believe that she thought she might get in trouble now for not asking. I pulled it out and handed it over. She says Happy Birthday grinning and continues on.
The guy in the next aisle hears her and contributes "Happy Birthday, is this a milestone?"
"They're all milestones now." I replied.
Another gentleman behind me chuckled and said "Happy Birthday."
I thanked them all and thought how sincere they seemed. I think it's because we all relate to a birthday's significance, a special day – inclusive of everyone. And a nice change from the "Paper or plastic?" or "Have a nice day" greetings.
Birthdays — I prefer to have them pass stealthily, like two ships in the night. Or do I? Why do I post my birth date to Facebook, minus the year of course? Am I leaving an inconspicuous s-elfie...elf on the shelf…find me claim me — because secretly, I don't want to pass into obscurity? Do I yearn for the childhood clarification of the daisy? He loves me....She loves me not.
No, not really. For me, it is a yearning to keep an increasingly distant world closer. There are still people who like to wish glad tidings, Happy Birthday's and Thank You's —and I am one of them. And receiving is not so bad either. It's like getting a mailbox full of cards...or a bag full of Valentines. Subtle reminders that we can still reach out to each other in ways that are socially acceptable.
I thought of the social media delivery system of the 1800's. The calling card— personal ephemera brought tp the home of the intended with a request to visit at some time.
It was highly unlikely that you would see the person that particular day. As a gesture to show that you thought of them, you left a calling card stating that you hoped to visit in person sometime. A steward would answer the door, retrieve your card and place it in a dish near the entry way.
The recipient would then go through her/his cards at their leisure, sending a courier to respond with one of their own cards if they accepted the invitation. If not, no reply was given. The cards were ornate and represented the style and likes of the giver, much like the business card today.
Fast forward a century or so, now with the tip of our finger, we can poke someone, post someone or poach someone from anywhere around the globe.
My phone vibrates on the counter. It's a calling card from the ya ya's. "Let's meet at sunrise tomorrow at IOP in pajamas with chairs and toddy's to start the day!" I send my courier back with a tap. "Yes!"
When the clock buzzed at 5 a.m., I gathered the necessities; Thermos, fuzzy slippers, monkey pajamas, Gremlin big eared hat. Ten minutes later I was quietly giving phone directions to the beautiful, lost, dysfunctional, blind ass ya ya's as they missed the exit three times. Long Point Road? Westvaco? North Charleston? Wth? Their excuse, We saw the road name and exit, but it didn't say north or south. And —I know we've been there before, but it was daylight.
We still made it to Isle of Palms for the sunrise with time to spare, a better morning I can't remember. We laughed, drank breakfast and relished the gifts of companionship — the likes of which make you glad you have birthdays.
I was back home before Don even knew I was gone. The smell of bacon and pancakes lured him into the kitchen. Sleepy eyes handed me the most beautiful handwritten card I have ever received. I am going to share a line because it was so profoundly encouraging —Who we are, why we are and how totally important this day is.
"Before time, God set you in motion to be born on this day in 1958, and nothing in life has ever been the same —nor will it ever be, for eternity."
That may very well be the most beautiful thing that has ever been uttered to me.
On my way out of the door that evening I opened my mailbox. I pulled out two letters. One is a birthday card from my NC friend that has not missed my birthday for 26 years. Her cards are always a source of joy – albeit grounded with a few good digs on our ~endurance~
Now let's see what this other is.....Oh....my AARP card...seriously?
After a wonderful dinner and play. I came home fluffed the pillows and crawled into bed with my Kindle. Don peeps in to see me squinting as I typed out ~Thank You~ cards to the birthday wishes in my mailbox and on my Facebook page.
Knowing I was about to let the Kindle flop over and fall asleep, Don tried to guide it out of my hands..."No, I am almost finished. I wanted to personally thank every person who took the time out of their day to wish me a Happy Birthday!" Yeah...birthdays are good.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
JFK, 50 Years Later, The Southern Connection
Although I wasn't quite five years old, I remember watching it unfold on a black and white TV in a Chicago brownstone. My mother and a neighbor were crying, I really didn't know what was going on, but I cried too. I felt much better later that night, because Little Joe on Bonanza didn't seem to be too upset about it.
I am sure everyone can recite JFK's " Ask not ...." speech phrase. Even though he had many brilliant speeches, I have always been moved more that his actions were a reflection of his works. i.e., his steadfast leadership during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I had read historical accounts of the 14 day nail biter, but Don's emphatic word verbatim recall of every single documentary he has watched on the subject have ~learned~ me the most.
The crisis was a 14 day nuclear dare — standoff near Cuba with Russia that could have obliterated the entire eastern seaboard. Kennedy, although missiles in place and targets in sight, remained coolheaded even when an American U-2 plane was shot down. The world breathed a huge sigh of relief when negotiations between America and Moscow were reached.
The standoff formally ended at 6:45 pm EST on November 20, 1962. The tense negotiations between the United States and the Soviet Union pointed out the necessity of a quick, clear and direct communication between Washington and Moscow. As a result, a direct telephone link between the leaders of the two countries was established. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuban_missile_crisis
My friend and I, a navy vet, were messaging back and forth late in the evening, recounting our memories of JFK, his death and legacy. She told me "Long ago and far away, when I was a senior in high school in Bergenfield, NJ--just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, the Cuban missile crisis was happening. So many of my classmates were scared that the missiles would hit New York City, and possibly us as well. I thought the world of John Kennedy, and had complete faith in him--he was one of those presidents that you could say the man made the presidency, rather than the presidency made the man."
In response I tapped out this story;
"I went to Patriots Point in Charleston this past summer to do a story on the USS-Yorktown. For reasons I told her, but didn't type out here, the story fell through.
As I normally do when rejected (before toddy time) I searched for food. I stepped into line at the snack bar. They have meals on the Yorktown, but I needed a quick fix. An old guy stood behind me in prideful vet regalia.
I turned and told him that they served meals in the mess hall on the Yorktown. He smiled and told that he had seen enough mess halls to last a lifetime.
We got to talking about my failed story somehow and he said "I have one for you. Short and sweet. I was stationed on (??????) naval ship near the Bay of Pigs during Cuban Missile Crisis. It was a very stressful time for us, we were grateful to leave. When it was over we high tailed it back to the US and ported at (??????)”
I am juggling a hot dog, guzzler, notebook and pocketbook now as he eases up to the window to place his order. Ketchup is threatening to drip from the end of my unnaturally swollen steamed frank, but he has my attention so I lean on the snack bar and wait for him to continue.
"Well, we had leave and my buddies got drunk in Washington, DC and didn't want to go with me early on a Sunday morning to find a church. So, I went by myself.
I climbed the steps of an Irish Catholic church. No one was there, it was very early but the doors were open and candles gleaming. When I walked in, a tall gentleman got up off his knees slowly and turned to leave. I walked up the (?????) altar to light a candle. As we started to pass each other, he stuck out his hand. It was JFK! He thanked me for all I've done for my country and I thanked him for all that he does and we parted. I told my buddies when I got back to the ship when they finally woke up, damn drunks never believed it."
The vet and I talked for a few minutes while I woofed down the dog and I thanked him for the story and his service and we went our separate ways.
So, I click send and the message goes to NC to my friend. I piddled around the house the next morning, kicking myself for not writing down the facts — Church? Ship? Port name? to write his story up when I hear the beep that a message came in on my computer.
My friend responds, "Never trust an old sailor"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)